


Foundation

by zathara001



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zathara001/pseuds/zathara001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't want to be a virgin anymore," Judith Grimes announced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foundation

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: So. The first lines of this fic popped into my head when I woke up one day. I chuckled and went on with my day, but those lines would not leave me alone. This story is the result of that. I hope you enjoy it, as different as it is. 
> 
> It should go without saying, but I'll say it anyway: I own nothing connected with The Walking Dead, except my fantasies. If Robert Kirkman, Frank Darabont, Gale Ann Hurd, or any of the others involved with The Walking Dead want anything of this, I hereby give it to them, with humble thanks.

"I don't want to be a virgin anymore," Judith Grimes announced.

 

"Then do something about it," Daryl Dixon shot back instinctively, before what she'd said fully registered. When it did, he turned to her and scowled. "Where'd that come from?"

 

Afternoon sun mottled through the old-growth cherry trees in the front yard of their home in Macon, Georgia. Once the fourth-largest city in Georgia, Macon had become the new capital of the state once the plague finally ended. The scientific types who'd announced the cure wanted folks to meet in Atlanta, but it hadn't taken more than a week for Rick and him to see that Atlanta wasn't a welcoming place. It had, truly, fallen during the early days of the plague, and then too many corpses, both human and walker, had made cleaning up too difficult for a battle-weary populace.

 

Rick and the rest of their ragtag group of survivors had lobbied for Macon instead - not that it was untouched, but its location in the central part of the state would be relatively easy for any Georgia survivors to get to, it was large enough to have the infrastructure they'd need in rebuilding civilization and small enough that cleanup wouldn't be too grisly.

 

Rick had claimed this historic house on College Street for his family, and none had dared gainsay him. The rest of their group had homes nearby, still unwilling to let go of the closeness that had formed during the years of surviving together.

 

"I'm sixteen," Judith said, pulling him out of his reverie. "Or about that, anyway, best we can tell."

 

"Yeah, and?" Daryl wasn't really certain he wanted to hear the rest, but with Rick gone to a meeting about restoring the schools, and Carl and Michonne coordinating a new police and security force, he was the only other one of their family at home.

 

"And I'm an adult, or near enough to."

 

"Some would say you're still a kid."

 

"Some tried to say that about Carl when he was younger'n me, and had a dozen walker kills under his belt, too. Not to mention -" Judith broke off, suddenly uncertain.

 

"Yeah," Daryl agreed, "not to mention." Putting a bullet through their mother's skull to keep her from turning into a walker when it was clear she wouldn't survive Judith's birth.

 

"Anyway," Judith continued, "I'm an adult, and I don't want to be a virgin anymore."

 

"Why're you talkin' to me about this, 'stead of Michonne? Or Carol, or Maggie?" Or anyone but him. He'd taught her to use a crossbow and a knife, and to hunt - she stepped quieter than her old man ever had - but how in the hell was he supposed to talk to her about this?

 

"Isn't it obvious?" Judith faltered, her eyes, blue like Rick's and Carl's, unusually downcast.

 

"No, it ain't -" Daryl began, when suddenly it was. "Me? You want me to -?"

 

"Who else? Dad and Carl are out, Glenn's too devoted to Maggie …" her voice trailed off.

 

"What about Hershel?" Daryl asked. He'd declined the honor of being godfather to Glenn and Maggie's boy, but that didn't mean he hadn't taught the younger Hershel everything he'd taught Judith, and Carl before her.

 

"He's _twelve_." Judith's tone indicated that was a fate worse than death itself.

 

Daryl just looked at her. "And an adult, too, the way you're talkin'."

 

She sighed and sat down next to him on the front steps of the house. "He's nice and all, but he's like my brother."

 

"An' I'm yer uncle." Maybe not by blood, but Rick's words to him that long-ago day as they both sat, collapsed against the tires of a Suburban, had been reinforced too many times to count in the years since then.

 

"It's not the same," Judith said.

 

That seemed to be the only explanation she was going to offer, and after a few minutes of quiet that should have been uncomfortable but weren't, Daryl glanced at her.

 

"Y'know there are others than our group." Several hundred so far, and more straggling in by the day.

 

"I know."

 

Daryl waited, but again Judith seemed to have said all she was going to say on the subject. Definitely Rick's kid, Daryl thought. Might not be Lori's, though - Lori could've talked a man's ears off and sewn 'em back on just to talk 'em off again. He decided to go for the direct approach. It sometimes worked with Rick, so maybe it'd work on his daughter.

 

"Why me?"

 

"Why not you?" Judith countered. "You’re a good man –" Daryl snorted, but she continued as if she hadn’t heard him –"honorable, strong, and handsome in a rugged, redneck kind of way."

 

Daryl couldn’t help chuckling at that last, just as he couldn’t help pointing out, "An' old enough to be your father. Hell, I’m older than your father."

 

She ignored that. "And … I trust you."

 

"Trust, huh?"

 

Judith rolled her eyes at his skeptical tone, and Daryl felt his lips twitching, however slightly. That expression had always made him smile, from the first time she’d done it as a toddler.

 

"Yes, trust," Judith said. "I trust you to care about me, and us, and what we do."

 

"’s been a while," Daryl said.

 

"You’ve forgotten how?"

 

Daryl snorted again. "Like riding a bicycle."

 

"So you will?"

 

"I’ll think about it." And why had he said that instead of the refusal that had been humming in his mind since he realized just what she wanted?

 

"Thanks, Daryl." Judith stretched forward and kissed his cheek before settling back to sit with him. Strange, he thought, that he didn’t feel uncomfortable with her even after that conversation.

 

Trust, he decided. It all came back to that trust she’d mentioned – trust that had been born of necessity and strengthened through battle and blood, a trust that couldn’t be broken, no matter what happened, or didn’t happen, between them.

 

Some time later, when the shadows stretched long to the east, footsteps sounded on the sidewalk. One set, Daryl noted automatically, and in the next instant identified them. Rick.

 

"Slacking off on the taxpayer’s dime, Deputy Mayor?" he asked.

 

"I would be if there were any taxpayers," Daryl said. "Only reason I took the job is you said there’s not much to do."

 

Rick chuckled and opened his arms for his daughter’s embrace. "Enjoy your last few days of freedom, Jude," he told her. "School’s gonna start soon."

 

"Do I have to go? I can read and write."

 

"Yes, you have to go," Rick said. "There’s more to school than reading and writing."

 

"’rithmetic," Daryl said.

 

"Exactly," Rick agreed. "And some history, too, before the plague. And science, so we can start to get it all back."

 

"We could do without some of it," Daryl observed, rising to his feet and raising a hand to greet Carl and Michonne as they approached from the opposite end of the street that Rick had come from.

 

"And we probably will," Rick said, turning to nod a greeting to his son and give his lover a kiss. It'd damn well taken Rick and Michonne long enough to get together, Daryl thought, making a big deal about how things would change in the family, only they hadn’t, really. They were still the unit they’d always been, with just a little more privacy requested on occasion, and one particularly memorable unintended lesson on the birds and the bees when Carl hadn't known what Michonne's scarf hanging on a doorknob meant.

 

Daryl stayed quiet while the rest of what was becoming their evening ritual played out: Judith seeing to supper while the others talked about their days, conversation flowing into how to rebuild - _what_ to rebuild - and then into whatever any of them felt like saying. It was comfortable, Daryl thought, and maybe for Rick and Michonne it had been normal, before the world went to hell. They were showing Carl and Judith how to be normal, and Daryl was grateful for that.

 

His own life had never been normal - not if by normal you meant parents who gave a damn about each other and their kids - and seeing what Rick was building here, with this family, only made Judith's earlier request to him all the more incomprehensible. What could she possibly see in someone as broken as he was?

 

After the dishes were cleared, Carl said, "Scrabble?"

 

"Not f'r me," Daryl said, and not just because he couldn't spell for shit. "Goin' for a walk."

 

He felt Judith's eyes on him as he gathered his crossbow and headed out into the warm Georgia twilight.

 

#

 

Daryl had always thought best while he was moving - or maybe thought was the wrong word, since he could rarely remember any concrete words or images in his head. But movement, whether walking or fighting, carving an arrow or tuning up a motorcycle, brought clarity to whatever might be bothering him.

 

Except tonight.

 

Tonight, he'd made five - or was it six? - circuits of the town square and he was still no closer to clarity than he had been all afternoon.

 

"You're wearing a rut in the concrete."

 

The crossbow was up and aimed before the voice registered. Shit, he must really be distracted if he hadn't noticed Carol sitting on her front porch. Then again, the porch lay in shadow, the glow of the quarter moon overhead not enough to chase into the corner where she sat.

 

"Tryin' t' give me a heart attack, woman?" Daryl lowered his crossbow and turned up the walkway.

 

As he got closer, Daryl could make out the silhouettes of two people on the porch swing. He nodded to the man. "Tom."

 

"Daryl. All secure?"

 

"I wasn't doin' rounds. That's Rick's thing."

 

"Sure looked like it," Tom observed. "You must've passed us half a dozen times."

 

Daryl leaned against the porch railing. "Had some thinkin' to do."

 

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Carol said. Daryl heard the concern in her voice and, not for the first time was grateful that Tom - she insisted on calling him her husband, though Daryl didn't understand why - wasn't the jealous type.

 

"'s okay," Daryl assured her. "Not sure it was helpin' much anyway."

 

"Want to talk about it?"

 

"Nah. Yeah." Daryl shrugged. "Maybe."

 

Carol's quiet chuckle echoed under the porch roof. "That was definite."

 

Daryl chuckled with her. "Kinda the way I been thinkin' 'bout it."

 

"Talking requires drinks." Tom stood. "I'll make some. Be right back."

 

The front door closed behind Tom and Daryl felt himself relax. There was nothing wrong with Tom - he wouldn't have lived to be with Carol if there were - but he hadn't been through what Daryl had, what Carol had. Daryl swung the crossbow off his shoulder and propped it against the railing. "He's a good guy."

 

"I know." Carol's words were simple, but Daryl knew the pain that lay behind them. "What's on your mind, Pookie?"

 

Daryl grimaced at the old nickname, but this was Carol, his closest friend outside the Grimes family. If he couldn't talk to her, he couldn't talk to anyone.

 

"Just 'tween us." It wasn't really a question, and it shouldn't have to be said, but for this Daryl wanted confirmation.

 

"Just between us."

 

"Not even Tom?"

 

"Not even Tom." Even in the dark, Daryl could make out her hand moving in an X over her heart. "Must be serious."

 

Daryl blew out a breath. No sense putting it off, now that he'd decided. "Judith doesn't want to be a virgin anymore. An' she wants -"

 

Daryl broke off. The first part was easy enough to say, just a statement of fact. It was the second part that was hard.

 

Carol had always been able to read him, though. "You." It wasn't a question.

 

"Yeah."

 

"Why did that need six times around the square?"

 

Why _didn't_ it? The simplest answer was, "She's Rick's daughter."

 

"You think he wouldn't approve?"

 

Daryl couldn't help snorting. "I wouldn't approve if I was him."

 

"Why not?"

 

"I'm practically her uncle."

 

"Not by blood."

 

"Blood ain't the only thing makes a family."

 

"It never has been," Carol agreed. Then, "Is that how you think of her?"

 

"We're family. Alla us been through the fire together." Daryl paused, studied the toe of his boot as he worried the porch. "You sayin' you think I should?"

 

"I'm saying it's not forbidden, if you can think of her not as family."

 

"I'm old enough to be her father f'r Chrissakes."

 

"Which has what to do with anything?" Carol countered. "Love -"

 

Daryl snorted again.

 

"Yes, love," Carol said. "Don't shy away from the word. We all love each other. Love never did follow society's rules or boundaries."

 

"She should find someone - else."

 

"Who?" Carol asked. "Someone who cares for her more? Or who has more in common with her? Understands her better? I don't think she can."

 

"Someone better," Daryl said. "Better'n me."

 

He looked away from her, through a window and into the depths of the house she shared with Tom. He thought he could see the other man moving through the house, but that might've been his imagination playing tricks on him.

 

"There you go, assuming someone else is better than you."

 

"During the time of the walkers, I knew what I was, where I was s'posed to be, what I was s'posed to do. Now -" Daryl shrugged. "Don't know anything anymore. World's not like it was with the walkers, and it sure ain't like it was before. Who am I - what am I - now, to deserve her?"

 

"Whoever you want to be."

 

Daryl glared at her. "It ain't that simple."

 

"It's always that simple, if you let it be."

 

It wasn't, Daryl wanted to protest again, but that would make a reasonable discussion into an adult's version of "did not/did too" and that would be even less productive than walking the square again. So he groped for something else to say, even as a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind, _What if it is that simple?_

 

The front door opened, and Tom emerged, three glasses balanced on a tray on his left hand, saving Daryl from having to find something to say.

 

"Adult iced tea," Tom said, offering a glass first to Daryl then to Carol before taking the last one. "Or maybe not iced, but certainly cool."

 

Daryl took a sip, rolled it around his tongue, the cool liquid refreshing in the warm summer night. He swallowed, savoring the taste, then let out a low whistle when the burn hit.

 

"Goddamn, man - what'd you put in this?"

 

"Old family recipe," Tom replied.

 

Daryl took another swallow. "May have to get a gallon from you. Prob’ly keep my motorcycle goin’ for a month."

 

#

 

It must have been after midnight when Daryl returned to the house on College Street. His walk and the talk with Carol might not have led to any decisions, but he felt calmer, more at peace with whatever might come.

 

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised to see someone waiting up for him. He was surprised that it was Carl who sat on the steps.

 

"Past your bedtime, ain’t it?" Daryl asked.

 

"Yours, too," Carl countered. "Everything secure?"

 

"People keep askin’ me that."

 

"Hard habit to break." Carl blew out a breath. "I don’t trust this, Daryl. Every other time things have looked good, they haven’t lasted. The farm, the prison, Alexandria."

 

"I get it. ‘s why we’re all still goin’ armed." Daryl studied the younger man curiously. "You want to trust this?"

 

"I trust people. Some people," Carl corrected himself. "Not situations. Not anymore."

 

Daryl grunted. Carl had always been older than his years, even before the turn, if Rick’s stories could be believed. "Practical."

 

"Always." Carl looked up at him. "So this isn’t really a shovel talk."

 

Surprise shot through Daryl. "She told you?"

 

"Who else would she tell? Dad? Michonne?"

 

"Never thought about it. So if it ain’t a shovel talk, what is it?"

 

"Hell if I know." Carl’s dry tone surprised a laugh out of Daryl but he sobered when Carl continued, "I guess I just wanted you to know it’s okay."

 

"Think your dad’d agree with that?"

 

"Think my dad still thinks of Judy as a toddler."

 

Daryl chuckled again. "Hard not t’ look at her and think, Little Ass-Kicker, sometimes."

 

"She’s a grown-up ass-kicker now," Carl said. "Which means she can take care of herself, but I still want to take care of her, too, y’know?"

 

"It’s what we do."

 

"I had a different talk with another guy a while back. Think I scared ‘im off."

 

"Yeah?" Daryl said, more because he thought Carl expected it than he really wanted details of who else might have been interested in Judith – or maybe he didn’t want to know who else she might have been interested in.

 

"Yeah." Carl stood. "Involved reminding him that we’re all family – you and Michonne, not just Dad and me. Told him he’d never see the crossbolt coming that crippled him, and that Dad and I would pin him to the wall, the better for Michonne to cut off whatever she decided to cut off."

 

Daryl winced. "A pissed-off Rick is scary enough, but a pissed-off Michonne is the stuff of nightmares."

 

Carl gave him a wry look. "And a pissed-off Daryl is all kittens and bunnies."

 

"Better’n a pissed-off Carl, all sunshine and rainbows."

 

Carl laughed. "Just so we understand each other."

 

Daryl did understand, and respected Carl the more for his devotion to his sister, but he was done with heavy talking for tonight. "’m goin’ to bed. Past my bedtime."

 

#

 

It wasn’t until lunch the next day that Daryl was alone with Judith again, and then it wasn’t entirely his choice. He’d set up a shop where people could bring their machines – cars, can openers, anything without a computer chip – for repair and maintenance. It wasn’t anything Daryl had ever thought of doing before the turn, but in the time since, he’d learned a lot of practical skills, and now that things were supposedly back to normal, he was putting those skills to use.

 

He’d spent the morning under the hood – and sometimes under the chassis – of a 1965 Buick Riviera, trying to get the engine running again after jury-rigging a couple of hoses and a fan belt. He was turning the engine over for the umpteenth time when he heard her voice.

 

"I brought lunch."

 

Judith bringing him lunch wasn’t unusual, but today that small act seemed to have extra weight to it.

 

"Good timing," was all he said. "Just startin’ to get frustrated with this. I’ll wash up and be right there."

 

Washing up was something that had only recently returned to Macon – the infrastructure remained mostly intact after a decade and a half of neglect, but the people to run it were only gradually returning and passing on their knowledge. Daryl would never take abundant, clean water for granted again.

 

By the time he’d washed up, Judith had cleared space on his workbench, covered it with a cloth, and spread the lunch she’d brought – fry bread and chili, with honey-lemonade.

 

"Thanks," he said, and for a time they ate and talked of inconsequential things, of how the work at the shop was going and when school might actually start again. It was, Daryl realized, comfortable but not confining, not boring. This post-walker life might have boring moments, but Judith, and spending time with her, was not among them.

 

When they’d finished eating, Judith started gathering the bowls and cups to take back to the house. Daryl knew he should help her, but instead he watched her, the play of light and shadow on her skin, the glossiness of her hair, the quiet movements she made.

 

"You’re staring at me."

 

"No. Studyin’ you."

 

"That almost sounds worse."

 

Daryl chuckled briefly. "Tryin’ t’ see whether I can look at you as just you, not as Li’l Ass-Kicker all grown up."

 

Judith looked puzzled. "I don’t understand."

 

"Not gon’ try to explain, ‘cause I don’t completely understand it myself."

 

Judith studied him in return, her head tilted to one side inquiringly. "Then I guess the question is, could you?"

 

"Yeah." The word rasped out of Daryl’s throat, and he swallowed before saying again, "Yeah, I could."

 

"What does it mean that you could?"

 

"Means –" Daryl took a breath, let it out silently, like he would before pulling the trigger on his crossbow, and began again. "Means if you still want me, you got me."

 

The smile that spread across Judith's face could have warmed the darkest night. Daryl hated to ruin it.

 

"But."

 

That smile didn't entirely fade, just turned quizzical. "But?"

 

"But not just f'r a night." Daryl met her gaze. "We do this, we're doing all of it."

 

"All? You mean - all?"

 

"All," Daryl confirmed.

 

"I didn't, I mean, I wasn't asking for -" Judith waved one hand.

 

"I know." And now that it was in the open, Daryl could face it. "I am."

 

"Why?"

 

"What you said about trust - I got to thinking, an' that kinda trust is why your dad and Michonne are together. Glenn and Maggie. Even Carol an' Tom. An' I won't find anyone else I trust as much as you."

 

"Oh." Judith was staring at him now, her blue eyes dark and wide above flushed cheeks.

 

"I know I ain't much, an' I'm old and not gonna be around as long as you deserve, but I promise I'll never hurt you, I'll be with you whatever comes, and if you want me, you got all of me."

 

Judith just stared at him, and Daryl could only hope he hadn’t screwed this up beyond repair. Then she smiled again and came around the workbench. His arms opened for her instinctively and she clung to him.

 

"Yes," she said into his chest. "Very yes."

 

"Very yes?"

 

Her shoulders shook, and Daryl’s heart clenched. Why’s she cryin’? Then she looked up at him, and she was still smiling.

 

"I didn’t think you’d want that."

 

"I didn’t know I did until you asked for th’ other."

 

"It’s what I thought I could get."

 

Daryl’s arms tightened around her. "Anything you want, darlin’."

 

Judith straightened away from him, just far enough to look up and meet his gaze. What she wanted now was clear in her expression and he bent his mouth to hers.

 

She tasted of sunshine and morning dew, clean and fresh, and Daryl thought he’d never get enough of it, of her, after all the long years scrabbling for survival amongst the worst the dead and the living had to offer. He pulled her tighter against him, savoring the feel of her in his arms. When she nipped at his lower lip he groaned and pulled away.

 

"Stop," Daryl said, as breathless as if he’d been running for his life from a herd of walkers. "Stop, or we won’t."

 

"Why should we?"

 

"’Cause we’re gonna do this right. I’m gonna do this right," he emphasized when she started to object. "Get your old man’s blessing, alla that."

 

"Daryl, I –"

 

"I was a screwup all my life, ‘til I met your dad. I’m a better man ‘cause of him, an’ I want him to know it." More like he didn’t want to let Rick down, even now. But that wasn’t something he needed to share with anyone else, not even Judith.

 

"I was going to say I’ll do it however you want," she said. "You’re worth waiting for."

 

Damn if that didn’t make Daryl tear up. "You Grimes," he said, surprised by the roughness in his voice. "Alla you, older than you are."

 

They’d had to be, Carl and Judith both, when the dead walked. Daryl had just accepted it as a fact of life then. Now, he could be grateful that Judith was mature enough he didn’t feel like he was robbing a cradle, even if he technically was.

 

And then she had to go and roll her eyes again, the action making her look as young as she really was. "Do you always deflect compliments?"

 

"Don’t know. I don’t get enough to recognize a pattern."

 

Judith gave an exaggerated sigh and finished packing up the remains of their lunch. "Have to fix that for you. See you home later?"

 

"Yeah. May talk to your dad before dinner," he added, making enough of a commitment that he’d actually do it, rather than put it off.

 

"After," she said. "He’s more mellow after he’s eaten."

 

Daryl snorted. The thought of a mellow Rick Grimes didn’t fit into his brain, but if that’s what Judith wanted, that’s what he’d do. "After dinner, then. You an’ Carl go over’n see Hershel or something, okay?"

 

"Sure." Judith picked up the basket she’d brought, rested one hand on his shoulder and leaned in for a last, quick kiss.

 

Then she was gone and Daryl was left to work on a Buick and ponder just exactly how his life had been yanked out of his hands by a teenage girl.

 

#

 

After supper had been cleared away, Carl looked over at Judith. "Ready to go?"

 

"Go where?" Rick asked, ever the concerned father.

 

"The Collinses are having game night," Carl replied, "and they wanted a couple of extra hands on deck. Twenty kids in close quarters. I volunteered me and Judith."

 

Rick nodded. "Don’t be out too late."

 

"Dad," Judith said with a long-suffering tone Daryl knew too well, "it’s around the block, not out in the middle of nowhere. We’ll be fine."

 

"We’ll have knives," Carl added, "and I’ve got my gun."

 

"Have fun," Michonne told them before Rick could say anything else, and Daryl fought to suppress his grin. For all that Rick had relied on Carl like any other adult, he could be surprisingly over-protective when it came to Judith.

 

"See you in the morning," Carl said, and Judith came over to give Rick a hug before they left, waving to Daryl and Michonne with a, "G’night."

 

Daryl was both pleased and disappointed that Judith didn’t let her gaze linger on him any longer than she normally would. The door closed behind her and Carl – he couldn’t think of them as the kids any longer, not with what he had to talk to Rick about – and Michonne grinned.

 

"The kids are away, so the parents can play?" she asked.

 

Rick chuckled. "Isn’t that supposed to be the other way around?"

 

"Everything else got turned upside down. Why not this?"

 

"I got some o’ Tom’s moonshine," Daryl said.

 

"Break it out, man," Rick told him. "I’ll get glasses."

 

Daryl brought out the moonshine, poured a generous amount into each glass, and passed it around.

 

Rick paused before drinking, raised his glass. "To the survivors."

 

"And those we lost along the way," Michonne added.

 

Daryl couldn’t think of anything to add, so he held out his glass. Rick and Michonne touched theirs to his, and with a unity of movement born of years fighting at each other’s sides and backs, they raised their glasses to drink.

 

The burn of alcohol down his throat did nothing to ease the clenching of his stomach, and Daryl wondered that he felt so nervous at the thought of talking to Rick. They’d talked, and not talked, for years.

 

Never about something that mattered so much, he decided and took another sip.

 

"Some playtime," Michonne grinned. "Buncha old fogeys sitting around drinking, not even making it strip poker."

 

"I could get cards, if you want," Rick offered.

 

Daryl cleared his throat. "Got somethin’ to talk t’ ya about first."

 

"Sure." Rick said, easy as he'd ever been since the world turned upside down, and leaned back on the sofa, Michonne curled next to him. "What’s up?"

 

If there was one thing he’d learned in all those years at Rick’s side, it was just to say whatever needed saying. Rick could take it and, more, he welcomed it. So Daryl laid it out for him.

 

"I want to be with Judith."

 

Even from where he sat in a wingback chair across from the sofa, Daryl could see Rick stiffen.

 

"Be with her?" Rick repeated, his tone low and dangerous. Daryl had heard that tone more times than he cared to remember, but this was the first time in a very long time that tone had been directed at him. He swallowed but met Rick’s gaze without flinching.

 

"Yeah, with her," Daryl said. "Like you an’ Michonne. Or Maggie an’ Glenn, Carol an’ Tom."

 

Rick studied him for a long moment. During the time of the walkers, they’d communicated a lot with just a glance, a fractional movement of head or lip. Back then, such communication was a matter of life or death for themselves and the group they’d gathered around them. But now – Daryl wondered what Rick read from him now.

 

"Why?" Rick asked finally.

 

"Nobody else’ll do." It was simply the truth, Daryl thought. There wasn’t, nor could there be, anyone else for him. He’d never trust or care more for anyone than he did the ones he’d gone through the fire with, and of them all, Judith was the one who brought light to his sometimes too-dark soul.

 

"You’re older than me."

 

"Means I got to make the most of whatever time I got left. ‘s no different than when there were walkers about."

 

"Both Carl and Judith have always been older than they are," Michonne said. "You’ve trusted their judgment before. Why not now?"

 

"This is different," Rick said.

 

"How?" Daryl asked at the same time Michonne said, "Not really."

 

Rick glared at him, then down at Michonne, who couldn’t see it from where she leaned into Rick's side. Daryl bit back a grin as Rick realized the glare was wasted.

 

"I trusted – trust – their judgment about others, when it’s life and death," Rick said. "But neither one of them have much experience outside life and death."

 

"I’d say that means their judgment’s better’n it would’ve been, given all they’ve been through," Daryl said evenly, though he gripped his glass so hard he feared it might break. He willed himself to relax, taking even, calm breaths, and focusing on Rick, willing his brother in all but blood to understand.

 

Rick shook his head, and anger spiked through Daryl the way it had when he’d first met Rick, when Rick told him that he’d left Merle chained to a roof.

 

"I’m good enough to fight beside you, save your life, but I’m not good enough for your daughter? Is that it?" Daryl demanded. Where he’d been clenching his glass in white-knuckled fingers, now his hand shook with the effort to contain his rage.

 

"That’s not it," Rick declared. "You know better than that."

 

"Do I?" Daryl growled, lunging to his feet to pace the room.

 

He’d just turned at the fireplace when Rick caught up to him, blocking his way. Daryl started to move around him, but Rick grabbed his arm. Daryl let the other man hold him in place.

 

"You’re my brother," Rick said, his tone intense with sincerity. "I meant it then, I mean it now. Believe me."

 

Daryl found he couldn’t look away from the affection in Rick’s gaze. They rarely spoke about what they were to each other, and now that Rick had spelled it out again, Daryl had to swallow past a lump in his throat. Brother, Rick had said, and that was true. Rick had been a better brother to Daryl than his own ever had been.

 

"Then why –" Daryl began, his voice cracking on the question.

 

"Because of that," Rick answered. "You’ve been brother to me, uncle to her and Carl. It feels – wrong."

 

Daryl understood that – he’d had the same reaction at first, but somehow he didn’t think Rick would appreciate hearing that. What he said instead was, "It don’t feel wrong to us."

 

"Rick." Michonne’s voice was quiet, and all the more commanding because of it. Daryl found himself looking at her even as Rick turned to acknowledge her. "If not Daryl, then who?"

 

Daryl held his breath a heartbeat, two, ten, twenty. Then Rick’s shoulders slumped, just a little. "I don’t know."

 

"I’ll never hurt her," Daryl said.

 

"Not even a consideration," Rick told him, and his grip shifted from Daryl’s arm to his shoulder. "I’ve trusted you with her life, with all our lives, too often to think otherwise."

 

"Then trust me to share it," Daryl said, "not just save it."

 

Rick's gaze locked with his, and again, Daryl couldn't - wouldn't - look away.

 

For the first time since - Lord, had it really been Atlanta? - Daryl couldn't read Rick's expression. The other man kept his face utterly still, barely even blinking, and Daryl had to will himself to the same calm as he wondered what his friend was thinking.

 

Then Rick's arms were around him, hugging him tighter than anyone had since his mama when he was smaller than Carl had been when they'd met.

 

Instinctively, Daryl wrapped his arms around his friend, not entirely certain what the hug meant, but certain it had to be returned.

 

Then Rick was pulling back, the embrace over as quickly as it had begun. Their gazes locked again, and this time, Daryl could read the satisfaction in his friend's eyes.

 

"I do trust you," Rick said simply.

 

Daryl couldn't bring himself to feel relief, not just yet. "With her?"

 

"With her," Rick confirmed. "You have my blessing."

 

Now, only now, did Daryl relax, his mouth turning up into a rare, genuine smile that vanished in the instant Rick thrust his finger under Daryl's nose.

 

"But if you ever call me Dad, I will kill you."

 

#

 

Daryl didn’t know what to do when Rick and Michonne went to bed. Any other night, he’d go to bed himself, in the attic room he’d claimed because it had clear sight lines of both the front and back yards, and windows small enough to still provide cover if this place, like so many others before it, were overrun.

 

Tonight, though, Daryl sat in the living room nursing the last of Tom’s rotgut moonshine. Nobody stayed out late anymore, not with after-dark lighting still uncertain, so Judith would be home soon. Carl would be with her, of course, but given that they’d already had the not-really-a shovel talk, Daryl didn’t expect much from Carl other than a good night.

 

Then he and Judith would – what?

 

That question had haunted him since he’d told Judith he wanted more than just a night. Daryl knew that was true, felt certain of it in a way he’d rarely felt certain of anything, but he had no idea how to go about building the kind of relationship others had built, and there wasn’t a set of instructions anywhere to be found.

 

Trust. It all came back to trust. Daryl had to trust not just Judith, but also that the two of them together could build something bigger and better than each of them alone. It was a daunting thought, but no more so than assaulting a prison full of walkers. Or that’s what Daryl told himself.

 

The slightest sound from outside had his hand moving toward the crossbow that, even now, was never far. Then he identified the sound as footsteps – Carl’s and Judith’s – and relaxed.

 

"Enjoy the game?" Daryl asked once the door had closed behind them.

 

"Until the Weston twins decided to fight over whose turn it was, yeah," Carl said.

 

"Then it deteriorated into one big pillow fight," Judith added. "Which I think the Collinses were expecting."

 

"They probably started it," Carl muttered, and Daryl chuckled. Hank and Patti Collins had lost four children during the years of the walkers – three they’d had before the turn, and one born after – and since things had returned to an appearance of normal, they’d devoted themselves to other children. Daryl thought they seemed determined to single-handedly give every child an idyllic experience to wipe out memories of the walkers.

 

He felt the weight of both younger Grimes’ gazes on him, and pulled himself out of his thoughts back into the moment. "What?"

 

Carl glanced at his sister. "Sounds like everything went okay. Night, Judy. Daryl."

 

"Night, Carl," Judith said, and Daryl echoed it.

 

"It did, right?" Judith asked after Carl had gone upstairs. "Go okay with Dad?"

 

"Better’n I expected. He gave his blessing."

 

"So why’re you sitting there?"

 

The habit of honesty with anyone named Grimes wouldn’t be ignored. "Wasn’t sure what to do now."

 

Judith moved toward him, a shadow against the dark interior of the room. "Thought we had a good start earlier."

 

Daryl shifted in his chair, opened his arms for her. She settled into his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against her shoulder. "’m scared."

 

Anyone else might have joked that Daryl Dixon wasn’t afraid of anything, but Judith just held him.

 

"Of what?" she whispered.

 

"Lettin’ you down." Daryl gave a sharp laugh. "Same thing I’ve always been afraid of with your old man, your brother."

 

"Daryl." Judith sat back, grabbed his chin and tugged it up so he faced her. In the light of the half moon shining through the window, he could barely make out her serious expression.

 

"You haven’t let any of us down yet," she told him. "I can’t believe you’ll start now."

 

Trust – there it was again, Daryl thought. She trusted him in this, even though neither of them really knew what they were doing. It was a gift, that trust, and one he would work the rest of his life to deserve.

 

Starting tonight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on FF.NET back around April under the title "Foundation of Love." This is part of a sporadic, ongoing effort to get all my works posted here as well as there.


End file.
